LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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Word Pictures, 



AND 



HOWTOPAIHTTHEM. 




>J BY , 

J.Watson Eusk, 

Copyright, 1881, by J.Watson Rusk. 



&.<P - 



Published at The Eusks' School of Elocution, 
ADA, OHIO. 1881. 





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CONTENTS. 






■ 






Painting Word Pictures. 




i 


Respiration. 




3 


Sound. 




3 


Pitch. 




4 


Volume. 




5 


Quality. 




6 


Movement. 




9 


Accent. 




9 


Emphasis. 




10 


Elementary sounds. 




11 


Conception. 




11 


Selections. 






Creeds of the bells. 




12 


Liberty. 




14 


Evening at the farm. 




16 


Bugle echo. 




18 


Kit Carson's Wife. 




18 


Christ in the tempest. 




21 


The Launching of the Ship. 




23 


The Bayonet charge. 




24 


Maclaine's Child. 




26 


Washington's sword & Franklin's 


\ staff. 


28 


The Pipes of Lucknow. 




30 


The Sioux Chief's Daughter. 




33 


Woodchucks. 




37 


Eock of Ages. 




38 


The bald-headed man. 




30 


The Palm and the Pine. 




41 


How Sockery set a hen. 




43 



i 



_ , , WORD PICTUEES 5k^_ 

Painting Word Pictures. 

This is our definition of Reading and Speaking. 
In silent re i ling we paint the picture on our own 
minds, and when we read aloud we paint it on the 
minds of our hearers. Reading is not wholly a Sci- 
ence but an Art as well, and we find as few masters 
of the art of reading as of painting. Not one per- 
son in a thousand can even read fairly. Our teach- 
ers in the primary departments of our schools, just 
where the greatest care should be used in forming 
correct habits of speech, for the most part, cannot 
read even intelligibly themselves. And how can we 
expect to find their pupils good readers? 

"What are the Requisites of a Speaker or Reader? 

First. A trained Voice and Ear. 
Second. Power of Conception. 
Third. Artistic taste, and Common Sense. 

Some may say, their voice is so bad it can't 
be trained. This is a mistake, the voice can be de- 
veloped as well as any part of the body physically 
so can the power of conception, and the faculty of 
hearing. The directions on the printed page can- 
not supply the place of the living teacher; yet we can 
improve much by close observation, and practice. 

Let us take for example, a stanza or two from a 
poem, whose lines are familiar to almost every pu- 
pil in our schools, "Maud Muller" and see if we can 
get a picture from the words. 

"Maud Muller, on a summer day, 
Raked the meadow sweet with hay; 



JL WORD PICTURES 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 

Of simple beauty, and rustic health: 
Singing she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. " 
Now it does not take a very lively stretch of the 
imagination to get a picture fixed on our mind. 
In the first place, we have a 'rural maiden,' glowing 
with rustic beauty, the result of healthful exercise 
in the open air, wearing a torn hat, a rake in her 
hands, singing while she worked, as light hearted 
as the mocking bird, that re-echoed her song from 
the neighboring tree. We can see her suspend her 
work and "glance to the far off town" .and as she 
thinks her lot in life hard, compared with those who 
live there, she wishes that she might have the supe- 
rior happiness she feels sure they must enjoy. 
Then we see 

"The Judge ride slowly down the lane, 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane." 
and seeing MauJe, and admiring her simple beau- 
ty, stop his horse, and for the want of some better 
excuse to speak to her, 

"Ask a draught from the spring that flowed 
Through the meadow, across the road." 
If we follow the poem through we have a picture 
far superior to one the artist can put on canvas. 
Ours is a succession of pictures, like a panorama, con- 
stantly changing, and we not only see living figures 
but with the mind we can interpret their thoughts. 
After we get the picture on our mind, the next step 
is to paint it on the minds of others. This requires 
principles, a knowledge of which is essential. 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM 6 

Respiration. 

One of the first things to be learned in read- 
ing or speaking is, How to breathe. Some may think 
this a matter of minor importance, but it has a vi- 
tal bearing not only on our speech, but upon the 
whole physical system. Inhale ahvays through 

the nostrils; never through the mouth. 

The nostrils have a suitable lining for catching 
minute particles of dust, and other irritating mat- 
ter found in the air, thus preventing it from enter- 
ing the delicate air cells of the lungs, and laying 
the foundation of disease. In breathing through the 
mouth, this matter is not obstructed, and the mois- 
ture that nature furnishes to keep the vocal organs 
flexible is dried up, and the consequence is hoarse- 
ness, and disease of the vocal organs. 

If you value health and a good voice, breathe 
through the ?iostrils; make it a fixed habit. 

The air is the great vitalizer of the whole system, 
and as it is free to all, use it not sparingly by filling 
only a part of the lungs at each inspiration, but fill 
them full, especially the lower air cells. 

Sound 

We have three kinds of sound in our language, 
VO CAL } A SPIRA TE and 8 UB- VO CAZ. 
Vocal sound is produced by vibrations of the vocal 
chords, and this wonderful little instrument is so 
constructed that almost an endless variety of sounds 
can be formed by it, from a distant echo to a thun- 
dering orotund, and from the roar of a lion to the 
warbling of the smallest feathered songster. 



4 WORD PICTURES 

ASPIRATE SOUND is air articulated, by the 
lips, tongue, teeth and other parts of the mouth. 

SUB-VOCAL sound is a combination of vocal 
and aspirate sound. 

Pitch. 

PITCH is the elevation or depression of the voice; 
and depends for its changes upon the tension of the 
vocal chords. If drawn tight we have high pitch, 
and if lax, low pitch. Be careful in giving high 

pitch that you do not use too much force. 
Examples in High Pitch. 

'I come, I come! ye have called me long, 
I come o'er the mountains with light and song.' 

'Go ring the bells, and fire the guns, 
And fling the starry banners out; 

Shout Freedom, till your lisping ones 
Give back their cradle shout.' 

' Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again. 
I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 
To show they still are free.' 

High pitch is used to express animated and joyous 
feelings and extreme pain, grief and fear. 

Medial pitch. 

Medial pitch is that used when the voice is neither 
above or below its ordinary speaking key. It is used 
in all unimpassioned utterances, as 
'It was the time when lillies blow, 
And clouds were highest up in air, 
Lord Ronald brought a lily white doe 
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.' 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. O 

LOW PITCH. 

Low pitch is that used when the voice falls below 
the ordinary speaking key, and is used to express 
thoughts that are grand, sublime, awful, and heroic. 

O thou eternal One! whose presence bright 
All space doth occupy, all motion guide; 
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight ; 
Thou only God ! There is no God beside ! 

Example for practice, from low to high pitch. 
(Eegin at bottom and read up.) 

On ! 
On Stanley ! 
Charge ! 
Charge Chester! 
Victory ! 
He shook the fragment of his blade and shouted 
With dying hand above Lis head 

Volume. 

As pitch depends for its changes upon the ra- 
pidity of the vibrations, volume depends on their 
breadth or amplitude. If we tap a drum head gen- 
tly the extent of the vibrations are slight, and the 
sound correspondingly gentle, and as we increase 
the force of the blow, so we increase the volume of 
the sound. 

Gentle volume. 

'Softly woo away her breath, gentle death.' 
'Step softly, and speak low, for the year is dying,' 
Medial volume. 

'Maud Muller, on a summer's day, 
Raked the meadow, sweet with hay. 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty, and rustic health. 



b W0KD PICTURES 

Loud volume. 

'Forward the Light Brigade. Charge for the Guns.' 
'Boll on thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll. 

We can produce the greatest amount of vol- 
ume below medial pitch. If one uses too great force 
above medial pitch, the tone is not pure, but is im- 
pure, harsh and discordant. 

duality. 

Quality refers to the kind of tone. We use the 
Liquid, Orotund, Aspirate, Guttural and Trem- 
ulous. These tones may be compared to the col- 
ors used by the artist in painting. 

Liquid tone. 

The Liquid, as its name indicates, is a smooth 
flowing sound, used with medial pitch, volume and 
time, nothing in any of its modulations harsh, or 
abrupt in any way. It is used to express peace, love 
simple narration, and all the gentler emotions, as 

'I have nothing to say to you dearest, 
Nothing that I can write, 

For all the word I had to send 
I sent by the post to-night/ 

'Is this a time to be gloomy and sad, 

When our mother Nature laughs around, 
When even the deep blue heavens look glad, 
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground.' 

'The essay, the drama, the novel, have a most ex- 
tensive and powerful influence upon the moral feel- 
ings and character of the age.' 



and how to paint them. i 

Okotund 
The orotund is the liquid intensified, more 
round, solid and full. It is used to express dignity, 
grandeur, solemnity, sublimity and reverence. 
The orotund is seldom found in persons habitually 
but comes by cultivation and training. It is one of 
the most commanding and impressive tones we use. 
It should be at the command of every one whose 
office it is to read or speak in public. 

"Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of death 
Bode the six hundred. 
"Forward the Light Brigade! 
Charge for the gunsF'he said. 
Into the valley of death, 
Eode the six hundred." 

' Now' the flag-sergeant cried, 

" Though death and hell betide, 

Let the whole nation see 
If we are fit to be free 
In this land; or bound 
Down, like the whining hound, - 
Bound with red stripes of pain 

In our cold chains again!" 
Oh! what a shout there went 
From the black regiment! 

Aspirate 
Aspirate tone is, as its name indicates, a whispered 
utterance. It is used to express fear, secrecy, terror, 
revenge &c. 

" While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 
Or whispering with white lips 'the foe, they come! 
they come!' or " Be quiet, listen, I hear them. 



8 



WORD PICTURES 



Guttural 
The guttural is a rough, harsh tone given on low 
pitch with the vibrations uneven. We find a good 
example in the growl of a dog. It is used to ex- 
press hatred, contempt, anger, loathing &c. 

" I scorn forgiveness, haughty man, 
You've injured me before the clan, 
And naught but blood can wipe away 
The wrongs I have endured to-day." 
" Thou art too base for man to tread upon. 
Thou scum! thou reptile!" 

Tremulous 
The tremulous tone consists of succeeding impul- 
ses of sound of greater or less duration, depending 
upon the feeling or person portrayed. It is used 
to express grief, excitement, pain, pity, admiration, 
or physical weakness, from any cause. 

" Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, 
"Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, 
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span: 
O give relief aid heaven will bless your store." 

f, OI have lost you all, parents, home and 
friends." 

"Farewell, along farewell, to all my greatness! 
T lis 13 the sta 4 e of man: To-day he purs forth 
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him: 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; 
And,-when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening,- nips his root, 
And then he falls as I do. I have ventured. — 
Like little wanton hoys that swim on bladders, — 
This many summers, in a sea of glory, 

But far beyond my depth." 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. tf 

Movement. 

This modulation of the voice refers to the 
relative time consumed in uttering a word or pas- 
sage. We will mark three general distinctions, 
Quick, Medial and Slow. 
Quick 
" Away! - away ! - and on we dash ! 
Torrents less rapid and less rash. 
Away, away, my steed and I, 
Upon the pinions of the wind, 
All human dwellings are left behind. 

Medial 
" A garland for the hero's crest, 
And twined by her he loves the best; 
To every lovely lady bright, 
What can I wish but faithful knight ? " 

Slow 
"O thou Eternal One! vfhose presence bright 
All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight; 
Thou only God! There is no God beside." 

Accent. 

Accent is prominence given to a syllable or 
syllables of a word: and we make them prominent 
by the use of pitch, force, and movement. 

To illustrate, we will use the word ac-cent, 
accenting the first syllable, you will notice that the 
vowel A in that, is given on lower pitch than the E 
in the last syllable; the movement also, is slower, 
and the volume slightly increased. Some think 

that accent is volume alone, but pitch and movement 
are equally important factors. 



10 WORD PICTURES 

Emphasis. 

Emphasis is prominence given to a word, or words 
in a sentence. We produce the prominence by the 
use of pitch, volume or movement. Sometimes we 
use only one of these modulations, and at others 
two, or the three combined, according to the degree 
of prominence we wish to give the word. If the em- 
phasis desired is only slight, we suspend the voice 
for an instant; and if more prominence is desired, 
change the pitch, according to the sentiment of the 
selection, if of an exciting nature step up on pitch, 
and if grave, solemn, or impressive, step down on 
the pitch; and for still greater emphasis apply more 
volume. 

Examples. 

( Repetitions of a grave, solemn or impressive character 
require a stepping toy n on pitch, and those of an exciting 
nature require a stepping up. The first is Cadence, the 

latter Anti:-cadence.) 

If I were an American , as I am an Englishman, 
while a foreign troop remained in my country, I 
would never lay down my arms - never, never, 
NEVER 

To armsl they come, they COME. 

But here I stand for right, for Koman right. 
The charge is utterly, totally, MEANLY false. 
We may die-, die colonists, but never SLAVES. 
I defy the honorable gentleman-, I defy the 
government; I defy the WHOLE PHALANX. 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 11 

Elementary Sounds. 

There are forty-five Elementary Sounds in 
our language. They are divided into three classes, 
Vowels, Subvowels, and Aspirates. 
Vowels. 



a, 


as in 


ape. 


e, 


as in 


met. 


U, as in mute 


a, 


u 


arm. 


e, 


tt 


term. 


U, " 


up. 


a, 


a 


all. 


i, 


a 


ice. 


U, " 


full. 


a, 


it 


at. 


i, 


a 


it. 


U, " 


ui^ge. 


a, 


a 


care. 


0, 


a 


old. 


01, 


oil. 


a, 


« 


ask. 


0, 


a 


do. 


ou, " 


out. 


e, 


u 


me. 


0, 


a 


on. 







There are fifteen Subvowels and ten Aspirates, 
but as the vow T els are of greater importance in de- 
veloping the voice we give only them, A vowel 
sound is one made w r holly with the vocal organs 
unmodulated by the articulating organs. 

These sounds should be practiced every day 
until the voice becomes round, solid, and flexible. 

Conoeption. 

Conception, or the power of painting a picture 
on our own mind, is an important part of our read- 
ing, and we should study to get a true picture 
there, before we paint it on the minds of others. 

As our space is limited we will omit several 
of the minor principles of reading, and devote the 
remainder to selections for practice. 



12 WORD PICTURES 



CKEEDS OF THE BELLS. 

How sweet the chime of the Sabbath bells! 
Each one its creed in music tells, 
In tones that float upon the air, 
As soft as song, as pure as prayer; 
And I will put in simple rhyme 
The language of the golden chime; 
My happy heart with rapture swells 
Kesponsive to the bells, sweet bells. 

" In deeds of love excell,- excell! " 
Chimed out from ivied towers a bell; 
" This is the church not built on sands, 
Emblem of one not built with hands; 
Its forms and sacred rites revere, 
Come worship here, come worship here 7 
In rituals and faith excell,-" 
Chimed out the Episcopalian bell. 

" Oh heed ye ancient landmarks well, " 
In solemn tones exclaimed a bell; 
" No progress made by mortal man 
Can change the just eternal plan: 
With God there can be nothing new, 
Ignore the false, embrace the true, 
While all is well,- is well,- is well: ,, 
Pealed out the good old Dutch church bell. 

" Ye purifying waters swell, " 
In mellow tones rang out a bell: 
" Though faith alone in Christ can save, 
Man must be plunged beneath the wave, 
To show the world unfaltering faith 
In what the Sacred Scripture saith: 
O swell, ye rising waters, swell:" 
Pealed out the clear-toned Baptist bell. 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 13 

" Not faith alone, but works as well, 
Must test the soul,-" said a soft bell: 
" Come here and cast aside your load, 
And work your way along the road, 
With faith in God, and faith in man, 
And hope in Christ, where hope began: 
Do well, do well, do well, do well!" 
Rang out the Unitarian bell. 

" Farewell, farewell, base world farewell," 
In touching tones exclaimed a bell; 
" Life is a boon, to mortals given, 
To fit the soul for bliss in heaven: 
Do not invoke the avenging rod, 
Come here and learn the way to God; 
Say to the world, Farewell,- farewell!" 
Pealed forth the Presbyterian bell. 

" In after life there is no hell," 
In raptures rang a cheerful bell: 
" Look up to heaven this holy day, 
Where angels wait to lead the way; 
There are no fires, no fiends to blight 
The future life: be just and right. 
No hell, no hell, no hell, no hell!" 
Hang out the Universalist bell. 

" To all, the truth, we tell, we tell!" 
Shouted in ecstasies a bell: 
" Come all ye weary wanderers, see, 
Our Lord has made salvation free! 
Repent, believe, have faith, and then 
Be saved and praise the Lord, Amen; 
Salvation's free, we tell,- we tell!" 
Shouted the Methodistic bell. 

George W. Bungay. 
Error in 2nd. stanza, cxcell, for excel. 



14 WOKD PICTUEES 

LIBEETY. 

Liberty, gentlemen, is a solemn thing-a wel- 
come, a joyous, a glorious thing, if you please; but 
it is a solemn thing. A free people must be a 

thoughtful people. The subjects of a despot may 
be reckless and gay if they can. A free people must 
be serious: for it has to do the greatest thing that 
ever was done in the world — to govern itself. 

That hour in human life is most serious, when 
it passes from parental control, into free manhood: 
then must the man bind the righteous law upon him- 
self, more strongly than father or mother ever bound 
it upon him. And when a people leave the leading- 
strings of prescriptive authority, and enters upon 
the ground of freedom, that ground must be fenced 
with law; it must be tilled with wisdom; it must be 
hallowed with prayer. The tribunal of justice, the 
free school, the holy church must be built there, to 
intrench, to defend, and to keep the sacred heritage. 

Liberty, I repeat, is a solemn thing. The world, 
up to this time, has regarded it as a boon — not as a 
bond. And there is nothing, I seriously believe, in 
the present crises of human affairs, — there is no 
point in the great human welfare, on which men's 
ideas so much need to be cleared up, -to be advanced 
— to be raised to a higher standard, as this grand 
and terrible responsibility of freedom. 

In the universe there is no trust so awful as mor- 
al freedom; and all good civil freedom depends upon 
the use of that. But look at it. Around every h 
man, every rational being, is drawn a circle; t' 
space within is cleared from obstruction, or at lea s fc 
from all coercion; it is sacred to the being who 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 15 

stands there; it is secured and consecrated to his 
own responsibility. May I say it ? — God himself 
does not penetrate there with any absolute, any co- 
ercive power! He compels the winds and waves to 
obey him; he compels animal instincts to obey him, 
but he does not compel man to obey. That sphere 
he leaves free; he brings influences to bear upon 
it, but the last, final, solemn, infinite question be- 
tween right and wrong, he leaves to man himself. 

Ah! instead of madly delighting in his freedom, 
I could imagine a man to protest, to complain, to 
tremble that such a tremendous prerogative is ac- 
corded to him. But it is accorded to him; and 
nothing but willing obedience can discharge that 
solemn trust, nothing but a heroism greater than 
that which fights battles, and pours out its blood on 
its country's altar — the heroism of self-renunciation 
and self-control. 

Come that liberty! I invoke it with all the ar- 
dor of the poets and orators of freedom; with Spen- 
cer and Milton, with Hampden and Sidney, with 
Eienzi and Dante, with Hamilton and Washington, 
I invoke it. Come that liberty! come none that 
does not lead to that. Come the liberty that shall 
strike off every chain, not only of iron, but of iron 
law, of painful constriction, of fear, of enslaving 
passion, of mad self-will, the liberty of perfect 
truth and love, of holy faith and glad obedience! 

Orville Detcey. 



16 WORD PICTURES 



EVENING AT THE FAEM. 

Over the hill the farm-boy goes: 
His shadow lengthens along the land, 
A giant staff in giant hand: 
In the poplar tree above the spring 
The katydid begins to sing ; 

The early dews are falling : 
Into the stone-heap darts the mink, 
The swallows skim the river's brink, 
And home to the woodland fly the crows, 
When over the hill the farm-boy goes, 

Cheerily calling — 

"Co', boss ! co' boss ! co' ! co' ! co' !" 
Farther, farther over the hill, 
Faintly calling, calling still — 

"Co', boss ! co* boss ! co' co' 



-x> >> 



Into the yard the farmer goes, 

With grateful heart, at the close of day : 

Harness and chain are hung away ; 

In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plow ; 

The straw's in the stack, the hay in the mow ; 

The cooling dews are falling : 
The friendly sheep his welcome bleat 
The pigs come grunting to his feet, 
The whinnying mare her master knows, 
When into the yard the farmer goes, 

His cattle calling — 

" Co, boss! co, boss! cot co! co." 
While still the cow-boy, far away, 
Goes seeking those that have gone astray — 

Co, boss! co, boss! co! co." 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 17 



Now to her task the milk maid goes; 

The cattle come crowding through the gate, 

Lowing, pushing, little and great; 

About the trough, by the farm-yard pump, 

The frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump, 

"While the pleasant dews are falling: 
The new milch heifer is quick and shy, 
But the old cow waits with tranquil eye; 
And the white stream into the bright pail flows, 
When to her task the milkmaid goes, 

Soothingly saying — 

" So, boss! so, boss! so, so, so." 
The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool, 
And sits and milks in the twilight cool, 

Saying, " so, so, boss! so, so." 

To supper at last the farmer goes: 
The apples are pared, the paper read, 
The stories are told, then all to bed: 
Without, the cricket's ceaseless song 
Makes shrill the silence all night long; 

The heavy dews are falling: 
The housewife's hand has turned the lock; 
Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock; 
The household sinks to deep repose, 
But still in sleep the farm-boy goes 
Snoring — 

" Co, boss! co, boss! co, co, co." 
And oft the milkmaid in her dreams, 
Drums in the pail with the flashing stream, 

Murmuring " So, boss! so! so." 

J. T. Trowbridge, 



18 WORD PICTURES 



BUGLE ECHO. 

The splendor falls on castle walls, 

And snowy summits old in story ; 
The long light shakes across the lakes, 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow ! set the wild echoes flying: 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying ! 

O hark O hear ! how thin and clear, 

And thinner, clearer, farther going ! 
O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, 

The horns of Elf-land faintly blowing ! 
Blow '• let us hear the purple glens replying: 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying ! 

O love, they die in yon rich sky ; 

They faint on hill, or field, or river : 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 
And grow forever and forever. 
Blow, bugle, blow ! set the wild echoes flying, 
And answer, echoes, answer — dying, dying, dying ! 

Tennyson. 

KIT CAKSON'S WIFE. 

On winter eve, when cabins bright 
With the crimson flash of the log-fire's light, 
And the soft snow sleeps on the prairie's breast, 
They gather — the frontier scouts of the West- 
And, speaking sometimes with bated breath, 
Of wars of the border, and deeds of death, 
They crown their stories of reckless strife 
With the famous ride of Kit Carson's wife. 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 19 



For into a Sioux village, one day, 
From Dixon, a hundred miles away, 
A Norseman reached the chieftain's tent, 
Dismounted, staggered and gasped. 'Tm sent 
With sorrowful new T s from the pale-face town. 
Kit Carson, the scout ; is stricken down, 
And before he bids farewell to life 
He would see the face of his Indian wife. 

She heard that story — the chieftain's child — 
Her bronze face whitened, her glance grew wild; 
She grasped her deerskin cloak, and felt 
The pistols were safe in her wampum belt, 
She uttered only a smothered moan, 
And the scout and the chieftain stood alone. 

Her pony snorted; she grasped his mane, 
And the fleetest mustang that pressed the plain, 
Turning away from the sunset light, 
Sped like an arrow into the night, 
And the flanks flung backward a glistening foam 
As she headed her horse to her husband's home. 

Oh, sing not to me of Lochinvar, 
Or of reckless rides in glorious war ! 
But, oh ! if ever perchance you hear 
Of Sheridan, Graves, or Paul Revere — 
Of all who galloped to deathless life, 
Just speak the name of Kit Carson's wife. 

The stars leaped out in the boundless sky, 
And the girl looked up as the moon flashed by — 
The terrified moon, in a terrible race, 
Keeping time to her pony's pace! 
She heard the hoot of the lonely owl, 
And afar from the forest, a distant howl 
Louder and louder, piercing the air, 



20 WORD PICTURES 

Till her throbbing heart moaned a pitiful prayer; 
For, grasping her pistol and looking back, 
The Indian girl saw wolves on her track. 

The foremost fell with a shot in his heart, 
And his comrades tearing him part from part, 
While the horse flashed faster over the plain, 
With the girl's dark face in his tangled mane, 
Over the trackless prairies, away, 
Galloping into the new-born day. 

The first faint rays of the daybreak dim, 
Showed her upon the horizon's rim, 
An armed band of her people's foes, 
Riding as fast as the north wind blows, 
With the flash of the sun on the leader's plume, 
A signal that sealed the maiden's doom. 

But the daring blood of a noble race, 
Like flames in a gloomy forest place, 
Flushed redly into her Indian face, 
And she caught the tomahawk at her side, 
A toy in the blood of berries dyed — 
Swung it aloft, and, with panting breath, 
Galloped full in the front of death. 

Over each mustang every foe 

Swerved like lightning, bending low; 

Thro* the band, that parted to right and left, 

A clear wide path the maiden cleft, 

And an instant more she had passed them by, 

And was riding alone into the eastern sky. 

The terrified braves looked back on her there, 
While the sunlight's glory over her hair, 
Shone like a halo, wonderful, grand! 
Had she fled from the far-off-spirit-land? 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 



21 



Had she brought them blessings, or a blight? 
They shuddered and broke into sudden flight. 

Into the streets of a cabin town — 

Into the village riding down, 

With fevered brain, and with glazing eyes, 

And breath that fluttered in gasping sighs, 

She still urged on the faltering steed, 

That had served her well in her hour of need. 

And the pony leaped as it felt the rein, 

Galloped, staggered, and reeled again, 

And just as it reached Kit Carson's door, 

With work well done, and with anguish o'er, 

Fell to the earth and stirred no more ! 

An hour later the great scout died, 

His faithful Indian wife at his side. 

She only lingered a little while, 

And followed him then with a happy smile, 

Together they sleep in the self-same grave, 

Where widely the winds of winter rave, 

And in summer the prairie flowers wave ! 

CHRIST IN THE TEMPEST. 

Storm — on the heaving waters! The vast sky 
Is stooping with its thunder. Cloud on cloud 
Rolls heavily in the darkness, like a shroud 
Shaken by midnight's Angel from on high; 
Through the thick sea-mist, faintly and afar 
Chorazin's watch-light glimmers, like a star, 
And, momently, the ghastly cloud-fires play 
On the dark sea-wall of Capernaum's bay; 
And tower and turret into light spring forth 
Like spectres starting from the storm swept earth 
And vast and awful Tabor's mountain form, 



ZZ WORD PICTURES 

Its Titan forehead, naked to the storm, 
Towers for one instant full and clear, and then 
Blends with the blackness and the cloud again. 
And it is very terrible ! The, roar 
Ascendeth unto heaven, and thunders back, 
Like the response of demons, from the black 
Rifts of the hanging tempests, yawning o'er 
The wild waves in their torment. Hark! the cry 

Of the strong man in his peril, piercing through 
The uproar of the waters and the sky, 
As the rent bark, one moment, rides to view 
On the tall billows, with the thunder-cloud 
Closing around, above her, like a shroud. 
He stood upon the reeling deck. His form 
Made visible by the lightning, and his brow 
Pale and uncovered to the rushing storm, 
Told of a triumph man may never know, 
Power underived and mighty. ' 'Peace, be still." 
The great waves heard him, and the storm's 

Loud tone went moaning into silence at his will; 
And the thick clouds, where yet the lightning shone 
And slept the latent thunder, rolled away 
Until no trace of tempest lurked behind, 
Changing upon fhe pinions of the wind, 
To stormless wanderers, beautiful and gay. 
Dread Ruler of the tempest! Thou before 
Whose presence boweth the uprisen storm, 

To whom the waves do homage round the shore 
Of many an Island's empire! If the form 
Of frail dust beneath thine eye may claim 
Thy Infinite regard, oh, breathe upon 

The storm and darkness of man's soul the same 
Quiet and peace and humbleness which came 

O'er the roused waters, where thy voice had gone, 
A minister of power, to conquer in thy name. 

Whittier. 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 23 

LAUNCHING THE SHIP. 

Then the master, 

With a gesture of command, 

Waved his hand. 

And at the word, 

Loud and sudden there was heard, 

All around them and below, 

The sound of hammers, blow on blow, 

Knocking away the shores and spurs. 

And see! — she stirs! 

She starts! she moves! she seems to feel 

The thrill of life along her keel! 

And, spurning w T ith her foot the ground, 

With one exulting, joyous bound, 

She leaps into the ocean's arms! 

And lo! from the assembled crowd, 
There rose a shout, prolonged and loud. 
That to the ocean seemed to say, 
"Take her, O Bridegroom, old and gray, 
Take her to thy protecting arms, 
With all her youth and all her charms!" 

How beautiful she is! How fair 
She lies within those arms, that press 
Her form with many a soft caress 

Of tenderness and watchful care \ 
Sail forth into the sea, O ship \ 
Through wind and wave, right onward steer; 
The moistened eye, the trembling lip, 
Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! 
Sail on, O Union, strong and great, 
Humanity, with all its fears, 



24 WORD PICTURES 

With all the hopes of future years, 
Is hanging breathless on thy fate. 
We know what Master laid thy keel — 
What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel 
Who made each mast and sail and rope; 
What anvils rang, what hammers beat; 
In what a forge, and what a heat, 
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope. 

Fear not each sudden sound and shock — 

'Tis of the wave, and not the rock; 

'Tis but the flapping of the sail, 

And not a rent made by the gale. 

In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 

In spite of false lights on the shore, 

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea. 

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee; 
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
Are all with thee — are all with thee. 

H. W.Longfellow. 
THE BAYONET CHARGE. 

Not a sound, not a breath! 

And as still as death, 
As we stand on the steep in our bayonets' shine: 

All is tumult below, 

Surging friend, surging foe; 
But not a hair's breadth moves our adamant line, 

Waiting so grimly. 

The battle smoke lifts 

From the valley, and drifts [world ; 

Round the hill where we 'stand, like a pall for the 

And a gleam now and then 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 25 

Shows the billows of men, [hurled, 

In whose black, boiling surge, we are soon to be 
Redly and dimly. 
There's the word! "Ready all!" 
See the serried points fall — 
The grim horizontal so bright and so bare* 

Then the other word — Ha ! 
We snuff the burnt powder, we plunge in the glare, 
Rushing to glory ! 
Down the hill, up the glen, 
O'er the bodies of men; 
Then on with a cheer, to the roaring redoubt! 
Why stumble so, Ned? 
No answer: he's dead! 
There's Dutch Peter down, with his life leaping out, 
Crimson and gory. 
On! on! Do not think 
Of the falling; but drink 
Of the mad, living cataract torrent of war. 
On! on! let them feel 
The cold vengeance of steel. 
Catch the Captain — he's hit ! 'Tis a scratch- nothing 
More. Forward forever! 
Huzza ! Here's a trench, 
In and out of it. Wrench 
From the jaws of the cannon the guerdon of fame. 
Charge, charge ! with a yell 
Like the shriek of a shell, 
O'er the abatis, on through the curtain of flame. 
Back again, Never. 
The rampart, 'Tis crossed. 
It is ours, It is lost. 
No, another dash now and the glacis is won. 
Huzza ! What a dust. 
Hew them down. Cut and thrust. 
A T-i-g-e-r ! brave lads, for the red work is done. 
Victory, Victory ! [ N.J). TTrner, \ 



26 WORD PICTURES 

MACLAINE'S CHILD. 

"Maclaine, you've scourged me like a hound; 
You should have struck me to the ground; 
You should have played a chieftain's part 
You should have stabbed me to the heart. 
You should have crushed me unto death;- 
But here I swear with living breath, 
That for this wrong which you have done, 
I'll wreak my vengeance on your son, — 

"On him, and you, and all your race !" 
He said, and bounding from his place, 
He seized the child with sudden hold- 
A smiling infant three years old- 
And starting like a hunted stag, 
He scaled the rock, he clomb the crag, 
And reached, o'er many a wide abyss, 
The beetling seaward precipice; 

And leaning o'er its topmost ledge, 
He held the infant o'er the edge:- 
" In vain thy wrath, thy sorrow vain; 
No hand shall save it, proud Maclaine ! " 
With flashing eye and burning brow, 
The mother followed, heedless how, 
O'er crags with mosses overgrown, 
And stair-like juts of slippery stone. 

But midway up the rugged steep, 

She found a chasm she could not leap, 

And kneeling on its brink, she raised 

Her supplicating hands, and gazed. . 

" 0,spare my child, my joy, my pride! 

O, give me back my child, ! ' she cried. 

1 ' My child ! my child ! ' with sobs and tears, 

She shrieked upon his callous ears. 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 27 

" Come, Evan, ' said the trembling chief; 
His bosom wrung with pride and grief. 
" Restore the boy, give back my son, 
And I'll forgive the .vrong you've done. ' 
" I scorn forgiveness haughty man ! 
You've injured me before the clan; 
And nought but blood shall wipe away 
The shame I have endured to-day.' 

And as he spoke, he raised the child, 
To dash it 'mid the breakers wild, 
But, at the mother's piercing cry, 
Drew back a step, and made reply :- 
" Fair lady, if your lord will strip, 
And let a clansman wield the whip, 
Till skin shall flay, and blood shall run, 
I'll give you back your little son.' 

The lady's cheek grew pale with ire, 
The chieftain's eye flashed sudden fire; 
He drew a pistol from his breast, 
Took aim, -then dropped it, sore distressed. 
" I might have slain my babe instead, 
Come, Evan, come,' the father said; 
And through his heart a tremor ran. 
" We'll fight our quarrel, man to man.' 

" Wrong unavenged, I've never borne,' 

Said Evan, speaking loud in scorn: 

" You've heard my answer, proud Maclaine: 

I will not fight you - think again.' 

The lady stood in mute despair, 

With freezing blood and stiffening hair ; 

She moved no limb, she spoke no word: 

She could not look upon her lord. 

He saw the quivering of her eye, 
Pale lips and speechless agony. 



28 WORD PICTURES 

And, doing battle with his pride, 
' Give back the boy, - 1 yield. ' he cried. 
A storm of passion shook his mind — 
Anger and shame and love combined; 
But love prevailed, and bending low, % 
He bared his shoulders to the blow. 
' I smite you' said the clansman true: 
' Forgive me, chief, the deed I do ! 

For by yon Heaven that hears me speak, 
My dirk in Evan's heart shall reek ! ' 
But Evan's face beamed hate and joy: 
Close to his breast he hugged the boy. 
"Revenge is just, revenge is sweet, 
And mine, Lochbuy, shall be complete.'' 
Ere hand could stir, with sudden shock, 
He threw the infant o'er the rock, 

Then followed with a desperate leap, 
Down fifty fathoms to the deep. 
They found their bodies in the tide ; 
And never till the day she died 
"Was that sad mother known to smile — 
The Niobe of Mulla's isle 
They dragged false Evan from the sea, 
And hanged him on a gallows tree; 
And ravens fattened on his brain, 
To sate the vengeance of Maclaine. 

Charles Mackay. 

WASHINGTON'S SWORD AND 
FRANKLIN'S STAFF. J.Q.Adams. 

The sword of Washington ! The staff of Frank- 
lin ! O, Sir, what associations are linked in adamant 
with these names ! Washington, whose sword was 
never drawn but in the cause of his country, and nev- 



AND MOW TO PAINT THEM. 29 

er sheathed when wielded in his country's cause ! 

Franklin, the philosopher of the thunderbolt, the 
printing press, and the plowshare ! — What names 
are these in the scanty catalogue of the benefactors 
of human kind ! Washington and Franklin I 

What other two men, whose lives belong to the 
eighteenth century of Christendom, have left a deep- 
er impression of themselves upon the age in which 
they lived, and upon all after time ? 
Washington, the warrior and the legislator I 

In war, contending, by the wager of battle, for the 
independence of his country, and for the freedom of 
the human race, -ever manifesting, amid its horrors, 
by precept and by example his reverence for the laws 
of peace, and for the tenderest sympathies of human- 
ity: in peace, soothing the ferocious spirit of discord, 
among his own countrymen, into harmony and un- 
ion, and giving to that very sword, now presented 
to his country, a charm more potent than that at- 
tributed, in ancient times, to the lyre of Orpheus. 

Franklin ! — The mechanic of his own fortune; 
teaching in early youth, under the shackels of indi- 
gence, the way to wealth, and, in the shade of ob- 
scurity, the path to greatness ; in the maturity of 
manhood, disarming the thunder of its terrors, the 
lightning of its fatal blast; and wresting from the 
tyrant's hand the still more afflictive sceptre of op- 
pression: while descending into the vale of years, 
traversing the Atlantic Ocean, braving, in the dead 
of winter, the battle and the breeze, bearing in his 
hand the charter of Independence, which he had con- 
tributed to form, and tendering, from the self-crea- 
ted Nation, to the mightiest monarchs of Europe, the 
olive-branch of peace, the mercurial wand of com- 
merce, and the amulet of protection and safety to 



30 WORD PICTURES 

the man of peace, on the pathless ocean, from the 
inexorable cruelty and merciless rapacity of war. 

And, finally, in the last stage of life, with four- 
score winters upon his head, under the torture of 
an incurable disease, returning to his native land, 
closing his days as the chief magistrate of his adop- 
ted commonwealth, after contributing by his coun- 
sels, under the Presidency of Washington, and re- 
cording his name, under the sanction of devout pray- 
er, invoked by him to God, to that Constitution 
under authority of which we are here assembled, as 
the Representatives of the North American People, 
to receive, in their name and for them, these vener- 
able relics of the wise, the valiant, and the good foun- 
ders of our great confederated Republic, these sacred 
symbols of our golden age. May they be deposited 
among the archives of our Government ! 

And may every American, who shall hereafter behold 
them, ejaculate a mingled offering of praise to that 
Supreme Ruler of the Universe, by whose tender 
mercies, our Union has been hitherto preserved, 
through all the vicissitudes and revolutions of this 
turbulent world; and of prayer for the continuance 
of these blessings, by the dispensation of Providence 
to our beloved country from age to age, till time 
shall be no more ! 

THE PIPES AT LUCENOW. 

Pipes of the misty moorland,, 

Voice of the glen and hill, 

The drone of highland torrent, 

The song of lowland rill , 

Not the braes of bloom and heather, 

Nor the mountains dark with rain, 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 31 

Nor maiden bower, nor border tower, 
Have heard your sweetest strain ! 
Dear to the lowland reaper, 
And plaid ed mountaineer, 
To the cottage and the castle, 
The Scottish pipes are dear. 
Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch 
O'er mountain, loch, and glade; 
But the sweetest of all music 
The pipes of Lucknow played. 

Day by day the Indian tiger 
Louder yelled and nearer crept; 
Round and round the jungle serpent 
Near and nearer circles swept. 
" Pray for rescue, wives and mothers- 
Pray to-day ! " the soldiers said, 
" To-morrow, death's between us, 
And the wrong and shame we dread. " 

Oh ! they listened, looked and waited, 
Till their hope became despair, 
And the sobs of low bewailing. 
Filled the pauses of their prayer. 
Then up spake a Scottish maiden, 
With her ear upon the ground: 
" Dinna ye hear it ?-dinna ye hear it ? 
The pipes o' Havelock sound ? " 

Hushed the wounded man his groaning; 

Hushed the wife her little ones; 

Alone they heard the drum roll, 

And the roar of Sepoy guns. 

But to sounds of home and childhood 

The highland ear was true. 

" Dinna ye hear it ?-'tis the slogan ! 

Will ye no believe it noo ? " 



32 WORD PICTURES 

Like the march of soundless music 
Through the vision of the seer, 
More of feeling than of hearing, 
Of the heart than of the ear. 
She knew the droning pibroch, 
She knew the Campbell's call. 
" Hark ! hear ye no MacGregor's, 
The grandest o' them all ? " 

Oh ! they listened, dumb and breathless, 
And they caught the sound at last; 
Faint and far beyond the Goomtee 
Rose and fell the piper's blast ! 
Then a burst of wild thanksgiving 
Mingled woman's voice and man's 
" God be praised ! — the march of Havelock! 
The piping of the clans !" 

Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance, 
Sharp and shrill as swords at strife, 
Came the wild MacGregor's clan-call, 
Stinging all the air to life. 
But when the far-off dust-cloud 
To plaided legions grew, 
Full tenderly and blithsomely 
The pipes of rescue blew. 

Round the silver domes of Lucknow, 
Round red Dowlah's golden shrine, 
Breathed the air to Britons dearest, 
The air of " Auld Lang Syne." 
O'er the cruel roll of war-drums 
Rose that sweet and homelike strain, 
And the tartan clove the turban. 
As the Goomtee cleaves the plain. 

Dear to the cornland reaper 
And the plaided mountaineer, 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 33 

To the cottage and the castle, 
The piper's song is dear. 
Sweet sounds the Gaelic pibroch 
O'er mountain, glen and glade, 
But the sweetest of all music 
The Pipes of Lucknow played. 

Whittle?*. 
THE SIOUX CHIEF'S DAUGHTER 

Two gray hawks ride the rising blast; 
Dark cloven clouds drive to and fro 
By peaks pre-eminent in snow; 
A sounding river rushes past, 
So wild, so vortex-like, and vast. 
A lone lodge tops the windy hill; 
A tawny maiden, mute and still, 
Stands waiting at the river's brink. 
As weird and wild as you can think. 
A mighty chief is at her feet; 
She does not heed him wooing so- 
She hears the dark, wild waters flow: 
She waits her lover, tall and fleet, 
From far gold fields of Idaho, 
Beyond the beaming peaks of snow. 

He comes ! The grim chief springs in air - 

His brawny arm, his blade is bare. 

She turns; she lifts her round, brown hand: 

She looks him fairly in the face: 

She moves her foot a little pace 

And says, with coldness and command, 

" There's blood enough in this lorn land. 

" But see ! a test of strength and skill, 
Of courage and fierce fortitude, 
To breast and wrestle with the rude 



34 WORD PICTURES 

And storm-born waters, now I will 

Bestow you both Stand either side. 

Take you my left, tall Idaho; 

And you, my burly chief, I know 

Would choose my right. Now peer you low 

Across the waters wild and wide. 

See ! leaning so this morn I spied 

Bed berries dip yon farther side. 

See, dipping, dripping in the stream, 

Twin boughs of autumn berries gleam ! 

Now this, brave men, shall be the test: 

Plunge in the stream, bear knife in teeth 

To cut yon bough for bridal wreath. 

Plunge in ! and he who bears him best, 

And brings yon ruddy fruit to land 

The first, shall have my heart and hand." 

Two tawny men, tall, brown, and thewed 
like antique bronzes rarely seen, 
Shot up like flame. She stood between 
Like fixed, impassive fortitude. 
Then one threw robes with sullen air, 
And wound red fox-tails in his hair; 
But one, with face of proud delight, 
Entwined a crest of snowy white. 
She stood between. She sudden gave 
The sign, and each impatient brave 
Shot sudden in the sounding wave; 
The startled waters gurgled round; 
Their stubborn strokes kept sullen sound. 

Oh then awoke the love that slept ! 
Oh then her heart beat loud and strong ! 
Oh then the proud love pent up long 
Broke forth in wail upon the air ! 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 35 

And leaning there she sobbed and wept, 
With dark face mantled in her hair. 
Now side by side the rivals plied, 
Yet no man wasted word or breath; 
And all was still as stream of death. 
Now side by side their strength was tried; 
And now they breathless paused and lay 
Like brawny wrestlers well at bay. 
And now they dived, dived long, and now 
Two black heads lifted from the foam, 
And shook aback the dripping brow, 
Then shouldered sudden glances home. 

They near the shore at last; and now 
The foam flies spouting from a face 
That laughing lifts from out the race. 
The race is won, the work is done ! 
She sees the climbing crest of snow; 
She knows her tall, brown Idaho. 
She cries aloud, she laughing cries, 
While tears are streaming from her eyes : 
" O splendid, kingly Idaho ! 
I kiss his lifted crest of snow; 
I see him clutch the bended bough ! 
'Tis cleft - he turns ! is coming now ! 

" My tall and tawny king, come back ! 
Come swift, O sweet ! w r hy falter so ? 
Come ! come ! What thing has crossed your track? 
I kneel to all the gods I know. 
Oh come, my manly Idaho ! 
Great Spirit, what is this I dread ? 
Why there is blood ! the wave is red ! 
That wrinkled chief, outstripped in race, 



36 WORD PICTURES 

"Dives down, and, hiding from my face, 
Strikes underneath ! . . . . He rises now ! 
Now plucks my hero's berry bough, 
And lifts aloft his red fox head, 
And signals he has won for me. 
Hist, softly ! Let him come and see. 
Oh come, my white-crowned hero, come ! 
Oh come, and I will be your bride, 
Despite yon chieftain's craft and might. 
Come back to me ! my lips are dumb, 
My hands are helpless with despair ; 
The hair you kissed, my long strong hair, 
Is reaching to the ruddy tide, 
That you may clutch it when you come. 

" How slow he buffets back the wave \ 
O God, he sinks \ O Heaven ! save 
My brave, brave boy ! He rises, See ! 
Hold fast, my boy. Strike, strike for me. 
Strike straight this way ! Strike firm and strong. 
Hold fast your strength. It is not long.- 
O God, he sinks \ He sinks ! Is gone ! 
His face has perished from my sight. 

" And did I dream, and do I wake ? 
Or did I wake and now but dream ? 
And what is this crawls from the stream ? 
Oh, here is some mad, mad mistake. 
What, you, the red fox at my feet ? 
You first, and failing from the race ? 

"What, You have brought me berries red ? 

What, You have brought your bride a wreath ? 

You sly old fox with wrinkled face - 

That blade has blood between your teeth. 

Lie still, lie still ! till I lean o'er 

And clutch your red blade to the shore. 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 37 

Ha, ha ! Take that, and that, and that ! 
Ha ! ha ! So, through your coward throat 

The full day shines ! " Two fox-tails float 

And drift and drive adown the stream. 

" But what is this ? What snowy crest 

Climbs out the willows of the west, 

All weary, wounded, bent, and slow, 

And dripping from his streaming hair ? 

It is ! it is my Idaho ! 

His feet are on the land, and fair 

His face is lifting to my face, 

For who shall now dispute the race ? " 

Joaquin Miller. 

WOODCHUCKS. 

(By a School Boy.) 

Woodchucks is a very curious animal. It is made 
of hair and eyes and has two front teeth, and can see 
a man with a gun when the eyes are shut and bolt- 
ed. I have seen a dog shake a woodchuck till both 
were black in the face. A woodchuck can snivel up 
his nose, show his teetfc,and look as homely as I can 
without trying. They sit on one end and eat with 
the other. A woodchuck can get home faster than a 
gun can shoot. He is round all over, except his feet 
which are black. When eat they retain the flavor 
of their nests and seem to have been cooked with- 
out being pared. A fat woodchuck, when properly 
eat, is no laughin' matter. They come under the head 
of " domestic animals, " and think there ain't no 
place like home when a dog goes for one of them. 



38 WORD PICTUBES 

EOCK OF AGES. 

" Rock of ages, cleft for me, " 
Thoughtlessly the maiden sung; 

Fell the words unconsciously 
From her girlish, gleeful tongue; 

Sang as little children sing ; 
Sang as sing the birds in June; 

Fell the words like light leaves down 
On the current of the tune- 

" Rock of ages cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in thee. " 

" Let me hide myself in thee, "- 

Felt her soul no need to hide- 
Sweet the song as song could be; 

And she had no thought beside; 
All the words unheedingly 

Fell from lips nntouched by care; 
Dreaming not that they might be 

On some other lips a prayer- 
"Rock of ages cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in thee. " 

" Rock of ages cleft" for me, "- 
'Twas a woman sung them now, 

Pleadingly and prayerfully. 
Every word her heart did know. 

Rose the song as storm-tossed bird 
Beats with weary wing the air. 

Every note with sorrow stirred; 
Every syllable a prayer- 

" Rock of ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in thee. " 

" Rock of ages, cleft for me, "- 
Lips grown aged sung the hymn 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 39 

Trustingly and tenderly. 
Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim — 

" Let me hide myself in thee, " 
Trembling though the voice and low, 

Ran the sweet strain peacefully, 
Like a river in its flow; 

Sang as only they can sing 
Who life's thorny path have prest; 

Sang as only they can sing 
"Who behold the promised rest — 

" Rock of ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in thee. " 

" Rock of ages, cleft for me, 
Sung above a coffin lid;— 

Underneath, all restfully, 
All life's joys and sorrows hid; 

Nevermore O storm-tossed soul, 
Nevermore from wind or tide, 

Nevermore from billow's roll 
Wilt thou need thyself to hide. 

Could the sightless, sunken eyes, 
Closed beneath the soft gray hair, 

Could the mute and stiffened lips 
Move again in pleading prayer, 

Still, aye, still, the words wxrnld be, — 
" Let me hide myself in thee. " 

THE BALDHEADED MAN. 

The other day a lady, accompanied hy her son, a 
very small boy, boarded a train at Little Rock. 
The woman had a care-worn expression hanging o- 
ver her face like a tattered veil, and many of the 
rapid questions asked by the boy were answered by 
unconscious sighs. 



40 WORD PICTURES 

* Ma, ' said the boy, * that man's like a baby, 
aint he ? ' pointing to a bald-headed man sitting 
just in front of them. 

'Hush!' 

'Why must I hush?' 

After a few moments' silence : ' Ma, what is the 
matter with that man's head ? ' 

'Hush, I tell you. He's bald. ' 

'What's bald?' 

'His head hasn't any hair on it.' 

'Did it come off?' 

' I guess so. ' 

' Will mine come off? ' 

' Some time, may be. ' 

'Then 111 be bald, wont I V 

1 Yes. ' ' Will you care ? ' 

* O don't ask so many questions. ' 
After another silence, the boy exclaimed : ' Ma, 
look at that fly on that man's head. ' 
' If you don't hush, I'll whip you when we get home. 

' Look ! There's another fly. Look at 'em fight; 
look at 'em ! ' 

' Madam, ' said the man, putting aside a news- 
paper and looking around, ' what is the matter with 
that young hyena ? ' The woman blushed, stam- 
mered out something, and attempted to smooth 
back the boy's hair. 

' One fly, two flies, three flies, ' said the boy, in- 
nocently, following with his eyes a basket of oran- 
ges carried by a newsboy. 
' Here, you young hedgehog, ' said the bald-head- 
ed man, ' if you do not hush, I will have the con- 
ductor put you off the train. ' 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 41 

The poor woman, not knowing what else to do, 
boxed the boy's ears, and then gave him an orange 
to keep him from crying. 

1 Ma, have I got any red marks on my head ? ' 

' I'll whip you again, if you don't hush. ' 

1 Mister, ' said the boy, after a short silence, ' does 
it hurt to be bald-headed ? ' 

1 Youngster, ' said the man, ' if you'll keep quiet, 
I'll give you a quarter. ' 

The boy promised, and the money was paid over. 

The man took up his paper and resumed his read- 
ing. * This is my bald-headed money, ' said the boy. 

1 When I get bald-headed, I'm goin' to give boys 
money. Mister, have all bald-headed men got mon- 
ey ? ' The annoyed man threw dow T n his paper, 
arose, and exclaimed : ' Madam, hereafter when you 
travel, leave that young gorilla at home. 
Hitherto, I always thought the old prophet was very 
cruel for calling the bears to kill the children for 
making sport of his head, but now I am forced to 
believe that he did a Christian act. If your boy 
had been in the crowd, he would have died first. 
If I can't find another seat on this train, 111 ride on 
the cow-catcher rather than remain here. ' 

' The bald-headed man is gone, ' said the boy; 
and as the woman leaned back a tired sigh escaped 
from her lips. 

THE PALM AND THE PINE. 

When Peter led the First Crusade, 
A Norseman w T ooed an Arab maid. 

He loved her lithe and palmy grace, 

And the dark beauty of her face : 

She loved his cheeks, so ruddy fair, 

His sunny eyes and yellow hair. 



42 WORD PICTURES 

He called : she left her father's tent ; 
She followed wheresoe'er he went. 
She left the Palms of Palestine 
To sit beneath the Norland pine. 
She sang the musky Orient strains 
Where Winter swept the snowy plains. 

Their natures met like Night and Morn 
What time the morning-star is born. 
The child that from their meeting grew 
Hang, like that star, between the two. 
The glossy night his mother shed 
From her long hair was on his head : 
But in its shade they saw arise 
The morning of his father's eyes. 

Beneath the Orient's tawny stain 
Wandered the Norseman's crimson vein : 
Beneath the Northern force was seen 
The Arab sense, alert and keen. 
His were the Viking's sinewy hands, 
The arching foot of Eastern lands. 

And in his soul, conflicting, strove 
Northern indifference, Southern love : 
The chastity of temperate blood, 
Impetuous passion's fiery flood ; 
The settled faith that nothing shakes, 
The jealousy a breath awakes ; 
The planning Reason's sober gaze, 
And fancy's meteoric blaze. 

And stronger, as he grew to man, 
The contradicting natures ran, — 
As mingled streams from Etna flow, 
One born of fire, and one of snow. 
And one impelled, and one withheld, 






AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 43 

And one obeyed, and one rebelled. 
One gave him force, the other fire ; 
This self-control, and that desire. 
One filled his heart with fierce unrest ; 
With peace serene the other blessed. 

He knew the depth and knew the height, 
The bounds of darkness and of light ; 
And who these far extremes has seen, 
Must needs know all that lies between. 
So, with untaught, instinctive art, 
He read the myriad-natured heart. 
He met the men of many a land ; 
They gave their souls into his hand ; 
And none of them was long unknown ; 
The hardest lesson was his own. 

But how he lived, and where, and when, 

It matters not to other men ; 

For, as a fountain disappears, 

To gush again in later years, 

So hidden blood may find the day, 

When centuries have rolled away ; 

And fresher lives betray at last 

The lineage of a far-off Past. 

That nature, mixed of sun and snow, 

Repeats its ancient ebb flow : 

The children of the Palm and Pine 

Renew their blended lives — in mine. 

Bayard Taylor, 

HOW SOCKERY SET A HEN. 

Meester Verbis : I see dot mosd efferpody w r rides 
somedings for de shicken pabers nowtays, and I 
tought praps meppe I can do dot. too, so I wrides 
all apout vot dook blace mit me lasht summer. 



4ci WORD PICTURES 

You know — oder ofe you dond know, den I dells 
you — dot Katrina (dot is mine vrow) und me, ve 
keep some shickens for a long dime ago, und von 
tay she sait to me, ' Sockery, ' ( dot is mein name ) 
' vy dond you put some aigs under dot olt plue hen 
shickens ? I dinks she vants to sate. ' * Veil ' I sait 
meppe, I guess I vill. ' So I bicked oud some uf de 
best aigs, und dook um oud to de parn wher de olt 
hen make her nesht in de side of de haymow, poud 
fife, six veet up. Now you see I nefer vas ferry pig 
up and down, but I vas pooty pig all de vay round 
in de mittle, so I koodn't reach up till I vent und 
got a par el to stand on. Veil, I klimb me on de parel 
und ven my hed rise up py de nesht, de olc hen gif 
me such a bick dot my nose runs all ofer my face 
rait plood, und ven I todge pack dot plasted olt par- 
rel it preak, und I vent down kerslam. 

Py cholly, I didn't tink I kood go insite a parrel 
pef ore, but dere I vas, und I fit so dite dot I kood 
not git me oud efferway, — my fest vas bushed vay 
up undher my arm-holes. Ven I found I vas dite 
sthuck, I holler ''Katrina ! Katrina ! " Und ven she 
cum und see me s htuck in de parrel up to my arm- 
holes, mit my face all plood und aigs, py cholly, she 
shust lay down on de hay und laft, und laft till I 
got so mad I sait, " Vot you lay dere und laf like 
an olt vool eh ? Vy dond you cum pull me oud?' 

Und she set up und sait, '0,vipe off your chin, und 
pull down your fest ; ' den she lait back und laft as 
if she vood split herself more as ever. 
Mad as I vas I toiight to myself, Katrina, she sbeak 
English pooty good ; but I only sait, mit my great- 
est dignitade, 'Katrina, vill you pull me oud of dis 



AND HOW TO PAINT THEM. 45 

parrel ? ' Und she see dot I look pooty red, so she 
sait ' Of course I vill, Sockery.' Den she lait me un 
der parrel down on our site, und I dook holt of der 
door sill, und Katrina she pull on der parrel, but 
de first pull she mate I yellt, ' Donner und blitzen, 
stop dot, py golly; dere is nails in de parrel!' 

You see de nails pent town ven I vent in, but 
ven Ikoom oud dey schticks in me all de vay rount. 
Veil, to make a shord story long, I told Katrina 
to go an dell naypor Hansman to pring a saw und 
saw me dis parrel off. Veil, he coom and he like to 
shplit himself mit laf, too, but he roll me ofer und 
saw de parrel all de vay around off, und I git up 
mit half a parrel around my vaist. Den Katrina she 
say, ' Sockery, vait a leetle vile till I get a pattern 
of dot new oferskirt you haf on. ' But I didn't sait 
a vord, I shust got a nife oud und vittle de hoops off 
und shling dot confounted olt parrel in de vood- 
pile. Pimeby ven I cum in de house, Katrina she 
say, so soft like, ' Sockery, hadn't you better put 
some aigs undher dot olt blue hen shickens ? ' 

den I sait, in my deepest voice : ' Katrina, ofe you 
effer say dot to me agin I'll git a pill from you, so 
help me chiminy cracious ! ' Und I dells you she 
didn't say dot any more. Veil, ven I step on a par- 
rel now, I dond step on it, I git a pox. 






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